Overdose
by CafeLimon
Summary: Sherlock's 'dead', John can't handle it. What happens? (There is no Mary in my fic. Sorry!) PLEASE REVIEW! I love hearing from my readers!


He sat at his chair, arm relaxed but hands stiff and clenched into two tight fists; one holding his cell and the other gripping his leg. The blonde looked over the items in his flat. Blue eyes wondered, taking in every little object. Nothing had been moved, not a single thing. He couldn't bear to touch them. The only item John could grasp without his legs going so weak he would collapse is his blue scarf. He clutched it to his chest, the soft fabric wrapped tightly around his neck. John looked to his phone, stared at the number of his passed friend with stinging eyes. Fingers shaking and chest aching John released the scarf and starting typing. After three sentences he would erase the message. For three years he had messaged Sherlock, hoping, praying and then slowly his messaging turned to a dairy. Dear Sherlock and then he'd tell his friend how his day went, what he felt.

The now ex doctor wiped his eyes dry with his free hand and then taking a deep breath wrote.

Goodbye Sherlock.- Jw

He sniffled and dropped his phone to the ground. His now thin hands shook with adrenaline as he walked into the bathroom. John peered into the sink mirror, eyeing the sunken, gaunt man like he was a stranger intruding in his home. He looked so pale now. Subconsciously he rubbed the needle scars that spotted the corner that his elbow connected. His bottom lip slipped between his teeth, roughly chewing at the yellowish flesh. After the death of his friend, john had searched the flat for something to ease the pain. He found it.

The memory of his first fix was fading, now only a familiar sensation of his thumb pressing the pump of a syringe down. Along with faint feeling of Sherlock's stash running through his veins. He opened the medicine cabinet and reached in, pulling out Sherlock's small black box. He ran his hands over the slick, cool top. Enjoying every sensation it gave him, but loathing every spike of pain it sent into his chest.

Quickly he sat on the toilet, cradling the container like a small infant before flipping it open and staring tiredly at the contents inside. The syringe shimmered slightly beneath the dim bathroom light. Its clear plastic was bounced the light off making it reflected onto a small glass jar filled with already prepared black tar heroin. The blonde swallowed, mentally measuring how much it would take to kill him quickly. Usually John would take1/20th of a gram, but in his situation it would take 200-500mg of heroin to overdose. Slowly he picked up the syringe between his index and thumb. His hazel eyes scanned over it, counting each number before picking up the tiny jar.

He inhaled and swapped the jar into his other hand. His hands were so steady, barely even shaking as he grabbed his rubber band from the black box. John closed the box and placed it gently back into his medicine cabinet. His feet seemed to drag across the carpet as he walked, like his body was fighting against him. He forced himself back to his chair were he grabbed Sherlock's blue scarf. Eagerly he wrapped it around his neck; the scent of Sherlock was of course gone, replaced by his own musk. But the way the blue cloth brushed against his skin and tickled his cheek. It made him feel so much calmer.

Instead of taking his usual seat at his lay back chair, John took a spot on Sherlock's couch. The leather squeaked beneath him and John eyed the utensils in his hands. He gulped and wrapped the rubber band around his bicep, making his vein pop and strain against his arm. The doctor popped open the jar, he dipped the needle in filling the syringe pass 200 Mg. John could feel his body reacting, mentally his brain was sending shock waves of fear to his chest. The feeling swirled down into his stomach making him want to barf. The other side of him, the instinctual side made his nervous and hands steady.

The blonde poked the needle in place, slowly pushing the sharp end into his main vein. Slowly his thumb pushed the pump of the syringe down, shooting the poison Sherlock had left behind into his bloodstream. As he snapped the band around his arm off and disposed of the syringe; John Chuckled and walked over to his arm chair and looked door at his phone. John picked up the phone, arm already throbbing with his dose of heroin. His hands were shaking now, along with h his shoulders and stomach. He flipped it open and with quaking fingers started to type some more. " Sherlock throughout all the time I knew you I've always wanted to tell you how much-"

His phone fell, smashing to the ground with a loud clack. His hands ran through his tangle hair. "He's alive…" Slowly he went back to the couch, eyes still large with shock and body shivering from the drug currently destroying his body. "I have maybe two to four minutes…." He slumped down into the couch, his body started to ach and convulse. John clutched his stomach and lay onto his side, keeping his head off the couch and facing towards to ground.

He shut his eyes tight, the blood pumping into his head felt like heavy waves smashing in his skull. His heart slammed in his ribcage, making him ach and whimper. John hugged himself tighter, just slightly he could feel his ribs through his robe. He gripped Sherlock's scarf, eyes watering with fear and a wave of dizziness washed over his mind. "Sher…" The room went black and everything went numb.

He felt so cold and yet his body was burning, like every little nerve was on fire. The blonde groaned as he slept, the drug pulling him further to his death. "S-Sherlock…" He moaned his voice horse and cracking as he pleaded in his sleep. John shook violently, his body reacting more than badly to his forced overdose. His legs jerked up towards his chest and awkwardly he dropped to the ground.


End file.
